


days when i collected the sun

by greyhavensking



Category: Captain America (Movies), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Androids, M/M, detroit: become human au, other tags to be added at a later date
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyhavensking/pseuds/greyhavensking
Summary: [LOCATE AGENT STEVE ROGERS]Buchanan pushed open to door to Goldie’s Gym and slipped inside. Only a few flickering fluorescent lights illuminated the place, casting lengthy, abstract shadows across the dusty floor. Most of the room was dominated by the boxing ring erected in the middle, with areas designated for weight training and other exercises scattered around the remaining space. Buchanan would have thought he was alone if not for the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of someone’s fists pounding against a punching bag, which Buchanan followed to the far corner of the gym where he found Agent Steven Grant Rogers.________________________A teaser for a potential Detroit: Become Human AU that I've been developing. If anyone is interested, let me know and I'll see about continuing this!





	days when i collected the sun

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary, this is only a teaser -- and it's likely going to be subject to a lot of editing should I continue this. But I had an idea for a Detroit: Become Human featuring Android!Bucky and disgruntled, world-weary SHIELD Agent Steve and I had to write something for it. Not my best work, but I like the potential this AU has, so I hope anyone who reads this could give me some feedback!
> 
> Title taken from Sleepwave's "Through the Looking Glass," which is featured on an album that contains major Bucky feels in my opinion.

[ _ LOCATE AGENT STEVE ROGERS _ ] 

 

Smoothing a hand over his hair, Buchanan double-checked himself in the reflection of the gym’s front window. His smile looked a little too tight, a little too forced; he tried relaxing the lower part of his face but it didn’t quite achieve the desired effect. Although, far from looking inhuman, he just looked unfriendly, like he wouldn’t be inviting company if he were in a more public setting. And while that wasn’t really conducive to his current objective, it was something he could -- and would -- work around.

Satisfied, Buchanan pushed open to door to Goldie’s Gym and slipped inside. Only a few flickering fluorescent lights illuminated the place, casting lengthy, abstract shadows across the dusty floor. Most of the room was dominated by the boxing ring erected in the middle, with areas designated for weight training and other exercises scattered around the remaining space. Buchanan would have thought he was alone if not for the rhythmic  _ thud-thud-thud  _ of someone’s fists pounding against a punching bag, which Buchanan followed to the far corner of the gym where he found Agent Steven Grant Rogers.

In a sweat-soaked t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, Rogers wasn’t exactly the revered operative Buchanan had been expecting to meet. Not that he was one to judge on appearances alone, but he knew first impressions went a long way with humans, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Rogers would want to be introduced. There was no helping it, though, not when they were already working against the clock, so Buchanan fixed his hair again, tried for another passable smile, and called out, “Good evening, Agent Rogers.”

Rogers tensed instantly, pulling his latest punch and tucking his arms in closer to his torso. His chest heaved with every shaking breath, and a shudder rippled down his spine as he swayed forward, forehead digging into the unyielding canvas of the bag. With what looked to be a substantial amount of effort, Rogers laid his hands flat against the bag and pushed himself back and upright, spine going ramrod straight, chin out and jaw squared. He turned around to face Buchanan.

He looked distinctly unimpressed with Buchanan, cocking an inquisitive brow and pursing his lips as he began methodically unwrapping the tape from his hands. His eyes flicked over Buchanan’s face, down the length of his body, and back up for a split second. Buchanan knew he’d clocked the LED glowing on his temple from the way his hands clenched before he forcibly relaxed them, letting them rest at his hips.

“Feel like I’m at a disadvantage here,” Rogers griped, balling up the used tape and tossing it distractedly into the nearest wastebasket. He did it without looking, which would have been more impressive had Buchanan not known that Rogers spent most nights here when he wasn’t working, and that he had to know the interior of this particular gym intimately at this point. “You know my name and occupation and I don’t know either of yours.”

“My name is Buchanan. I’m the android SHIELD developed to assist in your field work.”

Rogers opened his mouth at that, but just as quickly closed it, screwing his mouth into a petulant shape. Likely he was aggravated that his superiors hadn’t told him anything about Buchanan’s arrival, or possibly even his existence. Androids weren’t new by any means, but few of them were deployed in professions such as Rogers’. SHIELD was the first intelligence agency in the world to design an android for the specific purpose of working alongside agents like Rogers; even the police didn’t trust androids enough to have them patrolling the streets or interrogating suspects. This was a big deal and Rogers was well aware of that.

Buchanan half-expected Rogers to throw him out onto the streets, furious at him for entering his sacred space without so much as a warning, or even for daring to try and usurp his position (Director Fury had informed him that Rogers had a stubborn streak a mile long and a deeply-repressed fear of powerlessness, and that he should act accordingly), but the man just rolled his shoulders and scrubbed a hand down his face, fingers whispering over the bristly beard he was growing.

“Right,” he said, a little gruff but non-threatening, nothing in his tone suggesting that violence was on the agenda. “Right, okay. Buchanan, you said? Good to meet you. Though I’ve gotta be honest, Buchanan’s a bit of a mouthful for me. Can I call you, I dunno, Bucky or something?”

Buchanan quickly searched through his various programs and protocols to determine if a nickname from a co-worker would violate anything in his code. Finding nothing of the sort, he nodded shortly and tried on another smile, one he hoped projected his total acceptance of the request. It wasn’t as though he had any preferences of his own that would contradict what Rogers wanted from him.

“Bucky is more than fine, Agent Rogers,” he said.

Rogers sighed. “Christ, you’ve only the one name, call me Steve so it’s fair.”

Buchanan wasn’t sure Rogers --  _ Steve  _ \-- understood the concept of fairness but agreed nonetheless. This was already going much better than he’d initially planned for; Steve hadn’t attacked him, or threatened him, or demanded that he leave the premises. Fury would be pleased.

He watched as Steve turned back to where he’d tossed aside his things -- a navy duffel bag, half-zipped and nearly empty aside from a water bottle, and what looked to be Rogers’ work clothes, and a towel. Rogers ran the towel over his face and neck to catch the sweat and took a swig from his water, then stuffed everything into the duffel and zipped it closed before hoisting it over his shoulder. He quirked a brow at Buchanan, gesturing towards the front of the gym.

“Whatever you’re here for, I’m not having this conversation here,” he said. The corner of his mouth curled up a fraction. “No offense, but I come here to forget SHIELD exists for a while. Talking shop isn’t going to help with that.”  
“Of course,” Buchanan said, falling into step beside Steve as he made his way out into the cool September night. Steve locked the door behind them and slipped the keys into a side pouch on his duffel, then set off down the street. Keeping pace with him, Buchanan accessed the map he’d downloaded of New York and overlaid it with possible destinations. Only one stood out to him: Steve’s apartment complex. That confused him; everything he’d learned of Steve, from Fury as well as the files SHIELD had on him, suggested he didn’t easily trust. Inviting someone into his home seemed, to Buchanan, a rather serious indication of trust.

Then again, he thought, tilting his head, he wasn’t  _ human _ . He lived on designated programs and he’d already told Steve that SHIELD had sent him. Steve wouldn’t have any reason to believe that Buchanan meant him any harm, or that he even could harm him. It went against protocol for androids to cause injury to humans no matter the reason, and Buchanan was no different -- though he’d found there was some leeway in his programming when it came to apprehending suspects, which would certainly come in hand when out with Steve and his team.

Sure enough, a few minutes of walking brought them to Steve’s apartment, and the man didn’t hesitate to wave Buchanan forward as he stepped into the elevator and rode upwards to his floor; he was just as agreeable in gesturing Buchanan into his apartment, where he proceeded to strip off his damp shirt while casually telling Buchanan to make himself at home while he went and changed in his room.

Blinking, Buchanan did a cursory sweep of the room. Steve’s apartment was open-plan, with only an island separating the kitchen from the living room; a hallway branched off from there that lead to the bathroom, Steve’s bedroom, and what was probably a bathroom. The kitchen wasn’t especially well-equipped, but it was serviceable (dirty dishes soaking in the sink, papers strewn about the island, a partially full cup of coffee by the stove), and the living room looked lived-in and comfortable, if a bit sparsely furnished (black leather couch and armchair, wooden coffee table overflowing with mail and a stack of books, a bookshelf, no TV) . Buchanan’s gaze snagged on the pictures on the shelf opposite the couch and he skirted around the armchair to get a better look at them. Most of them had Steve standing with one or two other people; a redheaded woman and blond man frequently appeared together, and several of the photos depicted Steve with his arms wrapped around a black man, the both of them smiling wide for the camera. An older photo, pushed near the back of the shelf, showed a much younger Steve and a blonde woman. They shared their bright blue eyes and willowy frames.

Buchanan’s facial recognition picked out Agent Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton as, respectively, the redhead and the male blond; it also identified the black man as Samuel Wilson, ex-pararescue and current VA counselor. The blonde woman, however, didn’t show up in his databases. She wasn’t employed with the government, then; though with her resemblance to Steve it wasn’t difficult to ascertain that she was his mother. Deceased, according to Steve’s records, for over fifteen years, which explained why she didn’t appear in any of the more recent photographs. 

Stepping back from the bookcase, Buchanan took a seat on the couch, hands flat atop his thighs, back straight. He glanced around the room again, listening for Steve; from the sounds of things he’d moved to the bathroom. The shower wasn’t on, so he wasn’t likely to be more than a few more minutes. Leaning forward, Buchanan trailed a finger down the spines of the books on the table: quite a few of them were history books, biographies of presidents and other world leaders, but there were several science fictions novels slipped in, as well as one fantasy book that looked worn and frayed at the edges. Buchanan recognized the titles only because he’d downloaded a large amount of data on pop culture. He’d been told to seamlessly integrate himself into Steve’s team and figured that understanding their interests would go a long way in endearing him to them. 

Like he’d predicted it wasn’t long until Steve was entering the room again. He didn’t pause as he sank onto the other end of the couch, letting out a quiet groan that Buchanan thought he wasn’t meant to hear. Agent Rogers was thirty-six -- not old by most standards, but with his time spent in the army and his labor-intensive job now, it would’ve worn down his body to the point where he might need to consider how much longer he could continue with his current position as a field agent. He’d sustained more injuries in the field than most other agents at SHIELD and that was a trend that was likely to continue without intervention -- which was at least one of the reasons Steve’s team had been selected for Buchanan’s trial run. Fury wanted him to try and curb Steve’s self-sacrificing tendencies, or at least step in before it became necessary for Steve to act on them.

“Alright, Bucky,” Steve said, slanting at look at him from across the couch, “I’ve made you wait long enough. Lay it on me.”

Buchanan sat up, linking his hands together in his lap. “As I mentioned before, I was designed by SHIELD to be the first android approved for field work. I am meant to aid you and your team on investigations and provide all manner of resources for you. Director Fury selected your team for this assignment based on your mission success rate and your excellent teamwork; he felt the STRIKE teams wouldn’t have been able to adjust to a new, non-human member, or adapt to my skill set sufficiently.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgement, almost as if he knew there was more to the story, reasons that Buchanan was holding back from him. But he didn’t demand that Buchanan reveal anything else to him, instead he just nodded and ruffled his hair, making it stick up in various directions.

“That’s about what I figured,” he admitted after a thoughtful pause. “I’d heard some gossip months ago about SHIELD’s R&D department getting into robotics but honestly, I didn’t expect much to come of it. Not until you showed up, anyway. But I’m not surprised Fury picked us -- this is as much a test for us as it is for you.” Steve chewed on his lower lip, falling silent for a few heartbeats before he sighed and added, “Not that I’m holding that against you, or anything. You’re here to do a job, same as the rest of us. I assume you’ll be coming in to meet the rest of the team Monday?”

Buchanan nodded, to which Steve, smiling a little, asked, “Any reason you were sent to meet me in private?”

“Director Fury anticipated a more volatile reaction from you and preferred that it happen off government property.”

Snorting out a laugh, Steve said, “That sounds like Nick alright.” He glanced at the digital clock on the bookshelf and shoved himself to his feet, then offered a hand to Buchanan to pull him up as well. “Well, you’ve done your duty, and I didn’t demolish the gym or my apartment, so I say we call tonight an accomplishment, yeah? You can head back… uh, wherever they’ve set you up for the night.”

Steve seemed uncomfortable with that revelation, that he couldn’t exactly send Buchanan  _ home _ . Smiling, Buchanan just shook Steve’s proffered hand and promised to meet him again on Monday for an official debriefing with his team. He didn’t have a home, per se -- that seemed too human for him -- but Steve didn’t need to fret over him. He’d return to SHIELD headquarters for the weekend and engage with Steve’s team Monday morning. 

Steve saw him out, offering him a good night before turning in himself, and Buchanan set off for SHIELD HQ, no longer uncertain that he and Steve would be able to coexist. 


End file.
